


Vigil

by Faelyee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: SnarryAUctoberfest_2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26741089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faelyee/pseuds/Faelyee
Summary: After the war Harry visits his parent's grave. He finds he's not alone.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 30
Kudos: 202
Collections: Snarry AUctoberfest 2020





	1. 1998

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Snarry AUctoberfest 2020 brought to us by the House of Snarry Discord Server
> 
> Prompt by [Cheloniet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chelonie/pseuds/Chelonie): Harry and Snape meet once a year at Lily's grave on Hallowe'en to drink and hold vigil. One year, it starts with one of them wiping tears off the other's face, then leads to a kiss, then more.
> 
> This could in no way have been done without [Jocunda Sykes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JocundaSykes/pseuds/JocundaSykes) who sat through hours of griping, rewriting, suggestions and reworking. Plus she beta'd for me in her very small amount of free time. 
> 
> Many thanks to all on the House of Snarry discord server who also spitballed ideas, supported each other, and made this entire fest possible.

"I suppose you expect thanks."

The all too familiar sounding voice pulled Harry out of his conversation with Kingsley. He spun around so fast he tripped over his own feet. The temporary Minister's hand gripped his shoulder to steady him.

"Sir!" he responded.

Snape's eyes flickered across Harry's face, eyebrow raised.

"Oh! Um, no. Sir. No thanks. I mean, I'm not expecting anything." He realised how he was coming across, in part thanks to Kingsley's throaty chuckles, and Harry took a second to collect himself. "No thanks are necessary, Professor. As I mentioned in there," he said with a jerk of his head to courtroom twelve, "I should be thanking you."

Snape stared for several seconds with his unfathomable eyes, before his attention shot to the Minister. "Shacklebolt."

"Severus, good luck," Kingsley replied.

With a brief nod, the recently acquitted wizard strode down the corridor as quickly as he'd come. Harry turned back to Kingsley, who sported a wide grin.

"Bugger off," Harry replied with a smile.

⁂ 

"Harry, you really shouldn't be going alone."

Hermione was at the head of the kitchen table at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. She planted her hand on the mountain of wartime Prophets she was culling. "It's Hallowe'en. It's freezing outside. I don't think you should be alone—let me go with you, or Ron."

"I'll be fine. I've got the jumper you laid out on my bed, thanks Mum." Harry rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. "Besides, you've got to be back at Hogwarts in the morning, and Ron's at work. This is something I have to do on my own."

"All right. You'll send me an owl as soon as you get home? And you'll send a Patronus if anything happens?"

The sincerity on her face compelled him to push away any desire to tease her further. He remembered how the last visit to Godric's Hollow had gone, and replied, "I will. And I'll send my Patronus if I need to. Promise."

Hermione hesitated for a point before giving a nod. She returned to her task, picking up a large stack and tossing it into the enormous stone fireplace.

He realised as he sipped from his Butterbeer that she was missing the Hallowe'en feast to fuss over him, and he was very lucky to have her. Harry placed his drink on the side and finished the report he'd taken home from the Ministry.

Once done, he closed the file and replaced it on the stack at the other end of the table. He caught the over-exaggerated look of concentration on his friend's face as he tugged his travelling cloak from the rear of his chair.

"Thank you. For caring," he chanced. When he saw the warm smile that graced her face, he knew he'd succeeded.

"You're welcome. Be safe."

"I will."

Harry strode from the room, pulling on the jumper he'd tucked aside in the hallway. Then, he wrapped his cloak snug around himself and exited the house. He stood a minute in the crisp October air, steadied himself, then twisted.

The gate to St Jerome's stood ahead of him. Its small stature belied the enormity of the task he'd set himself. He entered and let his mind quiet.

Tonight had been a source of internal stress for months and had been ever since the slew of funerals held after the war.

He weaved his course through the jungle of headstones. He paused at the crumbling grave of Ignotus Peverell and ran his finger along the triangle. His hands were numb from the biting air, and he pulled his cloak more tightly around him against the harsh intermittent breeze.

Harry didn't pause at the Dumbledore graves but remembered:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

The light of a flickering candle caught his eye. He stopped. Someone occupied the graveside he was heading towards. A shadowed figure rested on the ground, the candle not bright enough to illuminate their face. His mouth went dry. He stole closer, and his wand fell into his hand. He stopped short once again as their arm extended in his direction. His heart pounded at the sight of a familiar ebony wand. Snape. Shite.

Harry's arm dropped back to his side. He took a deep breath, in and out, and steadied himself on the large oak he found himself under. "Professor." He could just make out his glittering black eyes from under the hood of his dark cloak.

"Potter?"

The question in the man's voice seemed out of place, as surely Harry's presence shouldn't be unexpected on this day, of all days.

As he drew away from the tree, he saw Snape tuck his wand into his sleeve. The votive was flickering near the centre of the stone, just off to his mother's side.

Harry pulled his emotions inwards, stepping forwards and lit his own votive and placed it opposite. He took a moment to trace the inscription on the stone before dropping to a crouch and easing himself onto the grass.

The shifting sound of cloth drew his attention, and he shifted his head back to Snape. The man braced his hands upon the ground, as if to stand.

"Stay." The word sounded more like an order than the offer he'd meant, but there was no taking it back.

There was a flash of hesitation before Snape brought his hands back up, arms resting on his raised knees. Harry rested his head on his knees, armed wrapped around them. The glow from the twin candles which flickered sombrely against the white marble drew his gaze. There was no sound except the whooshing of the frigid wind through the trees, and Snape was as unmoving as the headstones. 

"Potter," Snape murmured, what seemed like hours later.

Harry stretched his legs out, knees clicking. "Hmm?"

Snape nodded behind Harry, who shifted to see an ethereal otter shifting, as impatient as its creator could be. It was close to an obedient-looking terrier a few feet away. 

Harry chuckled, the fond feelings warming him more than his cloak had all evening. He formed those feelings into shape, drew his wand, and cast, "Expecto Patronum!"

They watched as the stag raced off into the night.

"The otter is Granger's?" Snape murmured.

"Yeah," Harry replied after a few seconds. "The other's Ron's. They worry."

The night was full of a mixture of awkward silence and cold shuffling. Harry couldn't deny that it was preferable to being alone. More than once he recognised a prickle in his eyes that Snape's presence chased away. He wanted to ask questions, dozens of them flitting in and out of his mind, but he was sure they would be unwelcome.

An hour before sunrise, a wave of despair struck Harry, the likes of which he hadn't known since his last visit. He knew now, at least, that wizards preserved the bodies of the deceased before burial. Mourners infused their magic into the dead, allowing them to keep their form. That his parents were now eternally young struck him.

Harry swallowed hard, pushing down the lump that had formed in his throat. He directed his fears and anxieties to an unlistening audience. Harry wished that he had taken more time with the Resurrection Stone, had an unrushed opportunity to speak with those he loved and lost..

"I consider it necessary," Snape spoke quietly, but it still startled him enough to jump, "to inform you... I loved Lily, I wasn't in love with Lily."

He tilted his head to the side, considering Snape's words. In the darkness, he couldn't make out Snape's expression. Harry reached for something to say, but nodded when he couldn't find anything to add.

When dawn seeped into the sky, Harry forced himself from the cool ground. Snape snuffed both votives and Harry drew his wand and said, "Orchideous," conjuring a bouquet of cyclamen and daylilies. He propped the flowers against the headstone and went to another grave two rows away. He ran his hand across the marble and his gaze drew to the words, lingering on 'heart'.

"Orchideous," he cast, drawing his wand in a circle.

Harry set the wreath of heather and daisies at the base of the headstone, and stepped back and away. 

Snape was watching him, silhouetted by the orange and violet streaks of sunrise. Harry looked on as he nodded and headed towards the entrance.

⁂ 

Harry stumbled down the stairs leading to the kitchen, his shin connecting with the ill-placed curio at the bottom. "Ow—fuck!" he hissed.

"Oh, Harry!"

He twisted his head at the unexpected company in time to register Hermione and Ron moving towards him.

"I'm fine," he told them through a sudden yawn.

"You're frozen is what you are, here sit," Ron said.

Harry was led to the chair nearest the fire, forced to sit, and had a steaming cup of tea pushed into his hands in record time.

"I thought you'd've returned to Hogwarts by now," Harry said. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the warm teacup.

"Oh, yes, I should have been, but the headmaster's Floo wasn't open. I'll try again shortly."

Harry opened his mouth, then allowed it to fall shut. He decided not to tell them about Snape's presence, though he wasn't sure why.

They both studied Ron as he inhaled breakfast.

Ron noticed their stares, rolled his eyes, and sat back with his tea. Hermione gathered herself and turned her full attention to Harry.

"They had a full team on the installation, according to Percy. New spells had to be invented to give the protections that Hogwarts needs. The headmaster opens the connection each morning and closes it every night before dinner."

Harry's hand flew up to cover an enormous yawn, and his eyes watered with the strain.

"That's it, go to bed," Hermione ordered.

"Yes, ma'am."

⁂ 

Harry and Ron gave each other sympathetic looks as they were both surrounded. Hermione turned her critical eye on Harry.

"Shouldn't you have gone with something more opulent? I thought Minister Shacklebolt asked you to go all-out."

"I like them, they match," Luna interjected.

Ginny tugged at Harry's embroidered hood and snorted. "But are they supposed to match each other?" she asked, amusement clear in her voice.

Harry laughed when Luna spun, her pale green robes flaring to a bell shape. Behind her, McGonagall approached, Snape a step behind her.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "You look lovely." He'd used the first of the 'approved greetings' Hermione had lectured them about that morning. "Headmaster," Harry greeted, nodding at Snape.

A series of greetings came from the group, and Harry watched with a grin as Luna hugged the professors tightly, both smirking at the others' discomfort. As Snape opened his mouth to say something to Harry, the booming voice of Kingsley echoed around the Ministry Ballroom. 

Kingsley called Harry up to join him, and he only just suppressed an eye-roll before Ginny shoved him. 

He didn't notice either Snape or McGonagall for the remainder of the night.


	2. 1999

Headmaster,

Snape,

Dear Severus Sna

Profe

Harry crumpled the parchment and tossed it into the fire. He rested his chin on his hand and cursed himself for not just asking Snape about his plans last year. 

A letter wouldn't even reach him in time. Sunset was in less than an hour.

He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head, and stood. Kreacher must have been about whilst he fretted over the letter, as he'd cleared Harry's dinnerware from the table. Kreacher must have shrunk all the supplies Hermione left for him. Harry gathered the small pile into his cloak's pocket, and called out a hasty, "Thank you," as he pulled it over his shoulders.

⁂ 

"Potter."

"Professor."

"You utilise my title much more liberally now you no longer are obligated to do so."

Harry fought the urge to clench his fist. He wondered whether Snape was trying to bait him, or if that was an overreaction. Either way, he'd hesitated for too long and responded in the manner he'd promised himself he would, after Madam Pomfrey had announced Snape would live.

He dropped to his knees, conjured and lit two votives and placed them in their typical spots.

"It comes much more easily now."

He lowered himself to the ground, smoothing the cloak beneath him as an extra barrier against the cold grass. Harry pulled the edges over his knees and was thankful for the extra charm-work he'd paid for.

Harry closed his eyes and rested his hands on his knees, saying a silent hello to his parents. They both descended into quiet, the only sound from the wind spun oak leaves.

Harry couldn't help but relax through the hours of silent companionship. Sunset came and went, and as it was a Sunday, the sound of bells rang from the church.

When the cold had taken the sensation from his fingers, Harry transfigured two pebbles into uneven lidded glass jars. He conjured two bluebell flames and scooped them into the jars, offering one to Snape who, after a moment's indecision, accepted.

"It pleases Minerva to receive your letters," Snape said stiffly.

Harry's head jerked up, "She's wonderful, honestly."

He saw Snape's gaze was fixed on the church building, and Harry wrapped his hands tightly around the jar. "If not for her I'd've drowned in Ministry politics."

"She has ample experience negotiating with the Ministry, both within and without," Snape commented.

Harry nodded and let it sit. He held an absurd level of appreciation for Snape's brief attempts at conversation. He didn't want to ruin it by letting their conversation run very long or too far. 

A sudden movement in the fallen leaves drew his attention. He thought he could make out a squirrel climbing a large tree, then moments later it was quiet again, but for the light breeze ruffling the rubbish. It tempted him to break the silence on more than one occasion, but despite digging deeply, he couldn't find a safe enough topic until Hogwarts came to mind.

"Have the governors approved the proposed update to the academic plan yet?" he ventured.

Snape's head whipped in his direction. "How do you know of that?" Snape asked. "Only the Board, Minerva, and I are privy to potential academic changes."

Harry weighed his options. He settled, after a beat, on the truth.

"And whoever proposed it. The governors won't update me until they have decided," he explained. "All Minerva will say is that it's close to a vote."

Even though it was dark, he avoided looking at Snape. He was sure that Snape wouldn't be impressed at Harry's involvement.

"What precisely did you propose?" Snape asked.

"I'm not lying, Professor. Why would I?" Harry demanded. After a moment he groaned and relented, "Cultural Studies was the major topic. I still know close to nothing about wizarding society. Muggle Studies is outdated and a bit of a joke, but it's an attempt."

The silence this time was uncomfortable and dragged through the rest of the night. As the sun rose Harry spent an extra moment for Ariana Dumbledore. As he conjured the flowers, he squatted to put them in place, and rested a hand on the cool stone. When he stood Harry was just in time to notice Snape turning away. He saw Snape weave his path through the graveyard. 

Harry only began his journey when Snape was out of sight.

Instead of Apparating, Harry turned towards the village. He picked his way through based on his memory. He took a few wrong turns, but it was easy to get back on course. Harry cast a glance towards the statue's location, but his destination lay ahead of him.

As Harry approached the ruined house, the wards gave. The property looked different from his last visit. 

The cottage looked worse in the light of day, and the hedges seemed more wild without their blanket of snow. He watched the expected sign grow out of not just weeds, but this time there were wildings covering all empty ground beyond the gate. The path to the door was also revealed, cracked and shifted flagstone with blooms scattered across it.

The sign had changed. It wasn't a replacement, and he spared a thought for the charm-work involved. Enlarged, and the handwriting had moved. But if his memory of Everlasting Ink was correct, it would take a hefty charm to even shift. They had added to the inscription.

On this spot, on the night of 31st October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.  
In the early morning of 2nd May 1998, Harry Potter survived another Killing Curse and went on to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort.  
The Potter Family shall forever be held in the hearts of wizards.

Harry reached out and traced a finger across the words, 'If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you!' The messages had given him his only moment of peace in an otherwise fraught day. He thought there were more messages than the first time, but he couldn't be positive. He spent a long time reading through the brief messages, while a bit of the horror of that year came back to him.

⁂ 

"It's quite lovely to see you," Minerva greeted, a genuine smile pulling at her lips.

She reached a hand to grab his upper arm.

"You look well."

"As do you," Harry replied. "The headmaster didn't join you?"

"Severus wouldn't attend any of these events if he wasn't being forced to."

Minerva gestured towards the centre of the ballroom, and he looked in that direction. A gaggle of officials had cornered Snape. His patience seemed to cling by the thinnest thread. Harry grinned and turned back.

"I have a bit of positive news," Minerva said as a smile danced on her lips.

"Yes?" Harry asked in a frenzied breath. "Did they vote to approve?"

"Conditionally. If we can draw together an approvable syllabus, and a list of candidates for the post," she revealed. "But they have approved the finances."

"Does 'Confidential' mean nothing?" Snape asked from behind him. 

"Oh pish, Severus. You're fully aware of Harry's involvement," Minerva shot back. "Why you cannot bury this foolishness, I'll never know."

It took Harry's year of Disguise courses to keep his smile from appearing. He was lucky Snape was still behind him. Minerva noticed, and her eyes glimmered with laughter.

"Well, since Mr Potter is already 'involved', as you say, perhaps he would be delighted to aid you in building the curriculum," Snape suggested, on just the diplomatic side of snide. 

Minerva glanced at Harry, her brow lifted. His grin appeared, and he bowed his head.

"Anything you need," Harry agreed. He found himself unable to refuse her.

Her smug expression shifted to Snape, and it was he that she stared at, but directed her comments to Harry.

"Every week instead of every two, Harry?" She suggested. "I'm certain it would thrill the headmaster to discharge me from my Saturday duties for those extra weeks. I'll, of course, be required to travel to London so we don't detract from your training." 

Harry angled his body so he could look at both Professors. Neither paid him any attention, and it startled him to find their interaction funny. 

"I am sure Filius–" Snape started.

"Filius is directing the NEWT Study Group on those Saturdays," she cut him off.

Snape stared at her, his gaze unmovable.

"Pomona–"

"Is working to care for her sister on her free weekends. Before you ask, Horace refused," Minerva replied. "Do not consider claiming that you are no longer a Head of House. You were for sixteen years. You don't forget."

When Ginny came over to tow him away, Harry's sides ached from not laughing.


	3. 2000

"Tea, coffee, or chocolate?" Harry asked, instead of a greeting.

He sat on the ground, pulling his warm winter cloak over his lap. Snape looked up and stared.

"Tea," Snape replied. He accepted the thermos handed to him.

Harry set a second off to his side. Each year Hermione seemed to pack more, and she refused to accept that he would be fine on his own. Ron's theory that she would ease up once they moved from number twelve had proved incorrect within days.

"Miss Weasley, I presume," Snape's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Uh, Hermione," Harry replied. A smile pulled at his lips, "She, uh. She's a bit of a mother hen."

No matter how frustrating Hermione's henning could get, Harry appreciated it. As a teenager he saw her input more like nagging, but his adult years had taught him well.

Harry looked over to Snape and realised that he could read him better than he thought, he leaned back on one of his hands.

"Yes?"

"Minerva had mentioned Miss Granger no longer lives with you," Snape stated.

"No, she doesn't. Her and Ron live in a flat near the Ministry. Molly finally relented that it was just as inappropriate for them to stay together at number twelve, as it was for them to live alone. She wouldn't let something like that stand in her way, though. Hermione can henpeck from anywhere," Harry explained.

"And Miss Weasley?" Snape asked.

"She's good, loves travelling with the Harpies. They're considering switching her to starter next season. Molly and Arthur are proud as can be," Harry said, surprised at Snape's desire to converse so much. "Gin's doing well for herself."

"Your elf must be glad there's only two of you at number twelve," Snape murmured.

This entire conversation seemed off, but Harry was willing to indulge Snape's odd behaviour.

"Kreacher is more of a nag than Hermione since they left. It's just me there now, so he's been whinging that I don't give him enough to do. Though he's in his element when Teddy comes to stay. I've been using a few extra pans when I cook dinner, or changing into street-clothes after work, but it's not easing him up any. I considered having him go back to Hogwarts. After I mentioned the idea, he began hiding my wand, or my work robes, my toothbrush, and miraculously finding them when I asked. All to show his usefulness," Harry explained.

"You dirty unnecessary cookware to give your elf tasks?" Snape asked, incredulous.

"Keeps him happy," Harry murmured, he felt heat travel up his cheeks..

"I was not–" Snape's eyes turned to the ground for a minute. "It is very kind of you."

"Oh," Harry responded, surprised.

For the first moment that evening they stopped speaking, and Harry reflected on the oddness of it all. The previous two years had been more awkward than this. He'd expected that if they were to be near one another for any length of time, that they would keep their talking to a minimum. Not that he wanted it that way, but their history was full of strife. He liked that Snape was talking, not opening up, but he admired him a lot and if he were honest, part of him wanted Snape's approval.

Harry sipped his chocolate, swirling the thermos after. He placed the container beside him and pulled his knee close enough to rest an arm on. It seemed as if an hour had gone by before he cleared his throat and spoke again.

"This, uh, isn't the best way to do this, I know. But thank you. For all the life-saving you did," Harry forced out. "Not just me, though me a lot. But my friends, too. None of us would've lasted long without you. Quirrell would have taken me out at eleven, I reckon."

Snape didn't move at all, still staring at the candles with the flames reflected in his eyes. For a long pause he didn't respond, leading Harry to think he made a mistake in what he'd said.

"I sent you to your death," Snape murmured.

Harry took his time responding, wanting to be clear and honest.

"No," he said. "Professor Dumbledore used you to send a message. I chose my death. If I hadn't, Voldemort would still be alive."

Snape turned to look at him. Harry cut him off as he tried to respond.

"He should have warned me himself. He should have informed me earlier, given me access to the Resurrection Stone earlier. Dumbledore was wrong. I would have still made the choice I'd made, but I would've prepared better if I had time. I would have told Hermione what needed to happen, I would have been able to speak to my parents properly. If his belief of my return hadn't worked out. Or if his hope of my sacrifice making Voldemort's powers impotent hadn't happened, we'd both be dead and Voldemort still alive," Harry blurted out.

Snape watched him, staring. His ability to stay perfectly still reminded Harry a bit of a carnivorous predator.

"Resurrection Stone?" Snape probed.

"Oh," Harry exclaimed lamely. "I thought Dumbledore would have told you."

Shape shook his head, tilting it to the side.

"The Hallows are a myth," he said carefully. "The Dark Lord laid his hopes on a myth."

Harry took a minute to decide. His fingers tapped against his knee.

"You've seen all three of them, they're real," he disclosed. A humourless laugh escaped, "I've owned all three of them. I really am surprised Dumbledore didn't mention that."

Snape shook his head and drew both of his knees up.

"He would not have. Even the knowledge of potential Hallows is dangerous, even to the most self-sacrificing. Most have a vulnerability for the temptation of power one could derive."

Harry thought about King's Cross and decided he'd already broken the barrier. "Dumbledore's regrets lead to the curse on his hand. He couldn't resist touching the Stone, though he knew better."

He looked towards Kendra and Ariana's grave, remembering the girl's kind portrait. A strange urge to visit with Aberforth came upon Harry.

"In the end Grindelwald did the right thing, I think the knowledge would have made him happy," Harry mumbled.

He readjusted and rested his forehead on his raised knee and put pressure on his scar as the ghost of remembered pain visited.

"You put too much stock in Skeeter's writing," Snape offered.

"He told me himself," Harry whispered, eyes still closed.

"When? Don't tell me you believe the Stone truly connects you with the dead," Snape drawled.

"I do, Remus, Sirius, and my parents escorted me to Voldemort, but Dumbledore was after I died," Harry growled, frustrated.

He should have known better than to allow the conversation to stretch out so far. Harry could sense it. This night would end with him storming from the graveyard in a tizzy.

"After you survived, you mean?" Snape asked, keeping his tone even.

"No," Harry burst out. 

He raised his head and met Snape's neutral gaze. His anger warmed him. 

"No, died. Between the moment I died, and the moment I made the choice to come back, I had an endless conversation with Dumbledore. We spoke of wands and Hallows, Grindelwald and Arianna, weaknesses for power, apologies, and you." 

Harry brought in a deep breath and continued, "He told me his regrets, details of his plans, it was the first and the last time he was open and honest with me. A conversation that lasted most of an hour, all happened in, according to Narcissa, the ten seconds I was down."

"I'll let you have your assumptions on the Resurrection Stone," Harry added, nearly out of breath. "But I'd be best pleased if you'd keep that to yourself. Those few minutes with them all brought me more peace than I've had before or since."

Harry closed his eyes again, fighting to reign in his temper. His training had taught him a lot, but control of his emotions was still a struggle. He worked through the exercises he'd learned to relax his mind and body, and by the time he'd completed them, his outburst embarrassed him. It wasn't so strange to not believe in legends and resurrection.

He lifted his head from his drawn knees and opened his eyes. He huffed a great sigh, deciding to bite the bullet.

"I'm–"

"What were they like," Snape interrupted.

Harry saw the olive branch for what it was.

"Physically? Not at all ghosts, but less than flesh. None tried to touch me, so I assume they couldn't. Sirius would have, I know that at least," Harry whispered. "They made noise when they walked. Not much though. I didn't feel any effect from the Dementors. It was like they weren't there."

Harry realised he'd never talked about this with his friends.

"They told me they were proud, they loved me, and Sirius told me death would be quick and painless when it came. 'Quicker and easier than falling asleep.' Dad said they'd be with me 'until the very end'. And they were. It was strange, seeing them so close to my age." Harry's gaze drifted across the dates on their stone. "I'm the same age now as they were when I was born, less a month or three."

A branch snapped from the Oak and clattered its way to the ground. Harry jumped, startled, then grinned at his own reaction. He twisted to spot the offender that now lay innocuous on the ground. He righted himself and found Snape watching him. 

"Was distracted," Harry explained, a smile still on his face.

"Lily loved Quidditch more than your father," Snape offered.

Harry froze as he registered that information, and the sudden way he delivered it.

"She followed the Harpies, though she had a weakness for the Arrows as well," he continued.

"Which team–" Harry stopped himself before he could ruin this.

"The Falcons," Snape responded.

"That's unfortunately fitting. 'Break a few heads,'" he quoted.

"Indeed," Snape responded with a shrug.

They spent what remained of the evening in a comfortable silence. When the sun rose they both hesitated. He decided against pushing his luck, and Harry left with an exchange of nods.


	4. 2001

When he awoke his ears were ringing. There was a smattering of voices on either side of him, but the scent that lingered around was what he recognised. St Mungo's smelled so uniquely of lemons and antiseptic potions, Harry assumed it was something they used to clean.

He tried to pull his eyes open, but his body hadn't worked through the sleep potion they had given him. That potion was becoming all too familiar. Someone placed a phial against his lips, and he was glad to realise he could drink it at least.

An unknown female voice announced, "He's waking up."

"Am I?" his voice slurred more than he would have liked.

He attempted to open his eyes again, and he succeeded, though his blurred vision made that almost useless. Harry could discern Hermione and Ron, their presence so common he thought he'd know them at any point.

"Don't be rude," Hermine scolded. Her voice was tremulous, as if she'd said it from habit rather than conviction.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Glasses?"

A minute later Ron slipped a pair over his face, and the world cleared. The glasses differed from his own, the shape more rectangular.

"Old pairs gone, Mum picked these for you."

Harry nodded and looked to the Healer waiting patiently at the end of his bed. "What's the damage, Doc?"

Healer Merriwether, her name tag said, frowned and narrowed her eyes. "I am not a Doctor, Mr Potter. I am a Healer."

Harry attempted to explain, as Merriwether moved to the small desk and picked up her quill, interrupting him.

"What is your full name?" she asked.

Harry hesitated once he realised he triggered the Cognitive Ability Test. He glanced at his friends and frowned at Ron's grin. CATs had never standardised, and many Aurors had spent weeks in St Mungo's for failing ridiculous questions.

"Do you know the answer to the question?" the Healer prompted.

"Harry James Potter." he grumbled.

"Date of birth?"

"31st July 1980."

"What are four ingredients of the Wit-Sharpening Potion?"

Harry groaned as Ron's chuckles became audible. He glared at his friends, and even Hermione was losing the hold on her smile. He glared at them for a moment, only letting up when Merriwether cleared her throat.

"Er. Armadillo bile, newt spleen," his gaze flickered to movement near the door. Harry's cheeks warmed, as he should have expected Snape to show up during a potions quiz.

"That's two, two more Mr Potter."

Harry's attention snapped back to the Healer.

"Cut ginger root, and uh, ground scarab beetles."

Merriwether tutted, marking down his answers.

"Powdered scarab beetles, Mr Potter. I'm afraid to tell you–"

"If you powder the beetles in the Wit-Sharpening potion, Miss Morgan, they will not bond properly to the flux weed during stewing. That will cause the concoction to thicken too rapidly and congeal. As you would do well to remember,"

Snape started in on her, and he seemed to gain more steam as he went. "Is it not your chosen profession to heal, Miss Morgan?" 

The healer nodded quickly.

"I would think poisoning your patients, or allowing them to be poisoned, would be against your vows. You did take your vows, yes Miss Morgan?" Snape prompted.

"Uh, yes. Yes, Professor," she stammered.

Harry indulged his sense of revenge as he watched Ron and Merriwether's heads whip around to the door in mild panic. Snape was leaning seemingly against the frame nonchalantly, his arms crossed at his chest and legs crossed at the ankle. Absent were his voluminous teaching robes, and instead he dressed in a Muggle style suit Harry only saw on Hallowe'en. It was only in that moment that he understood he must have been unconscious longer than he'd thought.

"P-Professor Snape, I am with a patient. I'll have–" Merriwether stuttered.

"I am here for Potter, not you," Snape spat.

With that, Snape dismissed the Healer. Harry admitted, if only to himself, how amusing it was when you weren't on the wrong end of that temperament.

He registered the expression on Snape's face and revised his feelings. He was on the wrong end. From his peripheral, he spotted Hermione glancing back and forth between them.

"Professor," he greeted.

"What did you do?" Snape asked.

Harry felt fifteen. Somehow he lost track of the very-good, absolutely not-his-fault reason for his hospital visit.

"His partner hit the support beams of a building, it collapsed," Hermione jumped in.

"Dawlish?"

Snape's attention was on Hermione now, and it gave Harry a moment to gather his wits. Ron seemed to sink into his chair at her pointed stare. He held his grin and gestured to Merriwether to bring over his paperwork, which she did while being careful not to glance at Snape. He flipped through the file, pulling the discharge form from the back, and filled it out as he half-listened to Ron arguing his case.

Merriwether opened her mouth, most likely to argue with his choice. Harry shook his head and initialled the section that emphasised a patient's choice for care. He was sore, very banged up, but he could tell he only needed rest. She glanced at Snape for a moment, who was insulting Ron's judgement, and accepted Harry's call. He assumed she wouldn't give away the chance to be rid of Snape.

Snape's lecture had evolved into a full argument, with Hermione as reluctant arbitrator. Harry pulled the blanket from his legs and reached into the table drawer where Hemione would store fresh clothes. He pulled on socks and a pair of soft denims before he got caught; a record.

"Harry Potter, you little sneak," Hermione exclaimed, the other two quieting.

Harry was glad his back was to them, as his grin wouldn't have gone over well. He ignored the pulling sensation as he unbuttoned the hospital pyjama jacket and stuck both arms into his worn Harpies tee. Her heels clicked as Hermione rounded the bed.

"At least let me help," she pleaded.

The tee was already on by the time she finished speaking, and he'd hidden his grin well.

"All done, thanks though," he responded, and looked around for his shoes.

"You realise we call into work every time you're in here, to keep that form away from you," she pointed out.

"And I love you both for it. Where are my boots?" he asked.

"Destroyed," Ron piped in. "Your foot was so mangled they had to cut one of em off the Muggle way."

Now that he'd mentioned it, Harry's foot was sore. Ron placed a paper shop bag on the bed. He dug in and pulled a very nice pair of boots from it. Ron must feel guilty. Harry gave his friend a smile and sat back down to pull them on. As he was securing the laces and buckles, he looked up and realised Snape was still here. The frown and crossed arms were clear indicators of his displeasure. Hermione's frustrated sigh drew his attention.

"I'll go prepare Kreacher and the house, Ron'll stay to bring you home," she said.

With that she spun and marched from the room, at the last moment pausing just long enough to appease her need for propriety.

"It was very nice to see you again, Professor."

She left the room before Snape even attempted a response. Ron caught his attention, Harry gave him a nod and a smile, and hopped back up from his seat.

"Thanks mate, see you in a few," Ron said as he rushed out the door after Hermione.

Harry finished tying the laces of the other boot before addressing Snape.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to worry you," Harry said.

"Yet you discharge yourself after two days of unconsciousness, following a building landing on you. No reason to worry at all," he snarled.

Harry experienced a tight pressure in his chest and warmth on his face. He rose from the bed and stuffed his wallet into his denims.

"I'm okay," he said.

"Did you see yourself? Did you even take a glance?" Snape asked. "I cannot think you had. Wounds and bruises cover you. Injuries take up the majority of your body."

Harry looked at the floor tiles. The thrum of his heart echoed in his ears.

"The way your friends talk about this place, as if you visit weekly," he went on.

He lifted his gaze to Snape and moved closer to him. He noticed his tone wasn't the same as he remembered. Harry realised he was being protected again. Against his better judgement, he tried what he found had worked with Hermione and Molly.

"If you cannot bother to listen–"

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, "I'm really sorry. I'll be more careful, I'll rest up and heal."

Snape looked unmoved. He pushed himself from the wall, and Harry realised then that they were of near equal height, yet he'd always seemed so tall. His face grew warm again, and he could not will it away.

"Value your own life," Snape demanded.

"As you value it?" Harry asked.

He ducked his head when he realised what he'd said. Harry resigned himself to a permanent blush. His teeth worried his bottom lip as he reached for a way to undo that.

"Yes."

After a silent minute, a different Healer, Stimpson, entered the room to go over his care plan, and supply him with the first doses of his potion regime for the next few days. She'd lasted her first year into Auror training before deciding it wasn't for her. She would request Auror's On-Duty cases, and they would request her when possible.

When they had finished, Patricia bid them both, "Good day," and Snape was leading him along the corridors, and through a few doors marked, "St Mungo's Staff Only!" One of which was more warded than most wizarding homes, yet it didn't even slow Snape. Perhaps he had clearance here. They made it to an Apparation platform.

Snape had insisted on Apparating. He didn't catch much of the grumble, but there was a bit about exacerbating his injuries, so Harry didn't argue. When they'd landed Harry's arm was sore from the bruising grip around it. They said nothing further, the awkward atmosphere made worse by Snape's refusal to make eye contact. He nodded a quick thanks, attempted to mutter something out, then a crack of Apparation carried Snape away.

The door clicked behind him, and he inched his way to the voices in the kitchen. Harry attempted to tune out their discussion, but that was more difficult due to him being their subject. He cleared his throat at the bottom stair. In moments they had parked him in his chair, plied him with tea, and Hermione was quizzing him. She scolded him for letting Ron leave, then began asking questions about Snape, not pausing for him to answer, for which he was grateful. 

"How did he find out you were there?"

"Er, he, uh. He didn't say. Neville maybe," he stammered.

"But why was he at St Mungo's?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were wide, and her attention was unwavering. 

"Dunno. I've always been wrong about Snape, I think I'm going to quit guessing," he tried.

She seemed to think it over a moment before nodding.

"Well, that decision was ten years late," Hermione commented over her chipped Uni mug.

Harry's face grew warm, and he looked away from her grin and caught the considering look on Ron's face. He hid behind his own large mug and was thankful when Ron didn't ask questions.

When he woke the following morning, an owl was waiting by his window. Harry retrieved the parcel it carried and found the draughts he'd required within. There was no note, but he scratched out a 'Thank you' on the brown parcel paper, and sent it back with the bird.


	5. 2002

Harry's knee connected with the gate as he fumbled through it. He'd worried himself into a fit all day, hardly focusing on his work. Kingsley had seen him in the lift at lunch and, in seconds, had dismissed him for the day. 

He stepped back and opened the gate properly before stepping through. Harry rested a hand upon the jagged bark of a nearby Maple and pulled his thoughts into order. He breathed in the fresh air and closed his eyes to listen to the rustle of branches. Nerves gathered, he let his hand fall from the tree and moved on.

His eyes darted to his destination, but moved away quickly when Snape's figure came into sight. He tripped on the root of the now familiar Oak and caught himself before he fell. Snape turned at the noise and watched as he ambled forward. 

"Are you injured?" Snape asked while he assessed him.

"No," Harry replied quickly. "I'm, uh, just distracted."

Snape watched him for a moment longer before he turned and knelt at the graveside. With a swish of his wand two votives were conjured, and another swish had them lit. Harry watched as he tucked his wand back into his dark cloak's sleeve and dropped his hood back before he lowered himself to sit. 

When Snape turned his attention on Harry, he jumped and then looked to the sky to take a breath. He moved forward and sat on the rough earth, and dug his fingers into the dying grass. Harry looked up to find himself being observed.

"What's wrong with you? Have you been cursed?" Snape asked as he reached into his sleeve again.

"No. I, er, I didn't even go into the field today," he replied and rubbed the muscle behind his ear.

Snape clearly didn't believe him, and he shrugged and leaned back on a hand.

"How have you been?" he asked, thankful he didn't stutter this time.

Black eyes studied him, and he fought the urge to squirm in place. Harry met the gaze, being sure to stay steady until Snape looked away. 

"Well," Snape responded. "I am well."

"Oh, good. I'm, uh, well as well," Harry said and shook his head in frustration at himself. 

The last of the sunlight had faded away and Harry pulled the gaps of his cloak closed against the chill. He studied the shadows cast within the carved lettering, studying the curvature of his mother's name. 

"A shame–" Snape started.

Harry looked up, "Hm?"

"About Miss Weasley," he murmured.

"What about– Oh! Oh, the Prophet?" Harry asked. "No, they've had the wrong of it for years now. It suited Gin and I well that they weren't poking into our business. Me being, well me, and her on the Harpies. We thought about making a go of it when she left Hogwarts, but decided not to. I thought you, of all people, knew better than believing Skeeter." 

Snape nodded and pulled his hood back up and drew his cloak over his legs. Harry reached into his satchel and retrieved two thermoses and opened each to smell. He resealed them and reached over to hand the one with tea to Snape who hesitated a long moment before accepting it. 

"Granger?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded and took a long drink, then wiped a bit of chocolate from his lip.

"Always. Since she proposed to Ron, she's gone overboard. Molly's been a terrible influence. I've more food in my bag than we ever dreamed of during our camping trip. 'In case you get lost'," Harry laughed.

"She–" Snape cut off then shook his head.

Harry grinned and set down the container, screwing the top on. 

"Even Luna's avoiding her right now, I didn't know Luna could get uncomfortable."

"Lovegood?" Snape asked.

"Do you know another?" Harry joked.

"Nine."

"Oh. Well then, yes, Luna Lovegood," Harry muttered.

The silence crept around them only broken by an auto's horn sounding in the distance a while later. Harry lifted his head from where it rested on his knees and glanced around to realise he was being watched again.

"What have I done this time?" he asked.

Snape pulled his arms around his knees and tilted his head a fraction.

"You may ask about them," he offered.

Harry opened his mouth and suddenly closed it again. There were so many questions he'd never thought would be answered.

"You don't have to, I mean thank you," he started and Snape nodded once. Harry thought for a moment, wanting to make the question a good one so he wouldn't need to ask many and annoy Snape. "What were her favourite things?"

Snape thought for a time before he stretched out one long leg, resting his arm on the other

"The Beatles, predictably. The Rat Pack, less so. Your grandparents would bicker over Sinatra versus Martin," Snape spoke while staring toward the church. "She watched Flying Circus as soon as it aired, despite her mother telling her it was 'highly inappropriate'."

"Did you know my grandparents well?" Harry asked.

Snape's head rose, and he looked toward the sky over the village. 

"Yes, quite well. They were–" he drew in a deep breath. "They were kind. To me. To everyone."

"Where did Aunt Petunia come from then?" Harry asked, chancing a smile.

Snape huffed a laugh then turned his attention to him. 

"I told Albus not to leave you there," Snape told him, his face stern.

Harry let out a humourless laugh, pulled a half-smile and said, "For the greater good."

⁂ 

Harry tapped his fingers against the pock-marked table surface. The din of the Three Broomsticks was soothing in a way he hadn't expected. It had been years since he visited Hogsmeade at all, and he'd not been back to Rosmerta's since the rebuilding effort. Harry's eyes flickered up at the door every few minutes, surprised by Minerva's lateness. She was a woman that valued promptness.

The door opened again, drawing his attention to a young man wiping snow from his furred cloak. The man looked familiar, but he couldn't place him. Harry looked back down at the surface, pulling a splinter loose with his fingernail. After the next sound of entry, he forced himself to wait a few extra seconds before checking. This time it was Minerva, chatting with Sprout. Minerva syphoned the snow from them both and after a moment more the two separated.

Spotting him, Minerva made her way through scattered tables, patrons pulling themselves out of her way as they noticed her advance. Harry stood as she approached the table, and she waved him back down.

"My apologies, Harry," Minerva stated, as she pulled her cloak off and draped it over an extra chair. "Troublesome students. You'd know a bit about that."

Minerva's eyebrows raised as she teased him. Harry's smile widened to a grin.

"I've no idea what you're referring to."

The indelicate snort he received was answer enough.

A wizard, Robert, arrived at their table, a new hire of Rosmerta's as he'd found out upon entry, to take their order. Minerva ordered for the both of them, saving Harry the trouble of dealing with Robert's endless chatter.

Minerva told him the tale of her troublesome students and had him laughing.

"The real reason I asked you here," Minerva started, face going serious, "is a favour Harry."

"Anything I can do–"

"Don't agree just yet, lad," Minerva interrupted. "Severus is a good man."

"I don't disagree," Harry replied, after she paused long enough to prompt it. "He is."

"There's been a complaint to the Ministry," she paused, and glanced around the pub. Minerva was not a person to hesitate.

"Would you like to move this somewhere more private? I'm sure Rosmerta will allow us her Floo," Harry suggested.

After a long moment, Minerva nodded. "Perhaps my office would be best."

The two stood, pulled their long cloaks around themselves, and Harry placed a couple Galleons on the table. Minerva raised her brow at the clear overpayment.

"People gossip," Harry murmured.

A sympathetic smile, and a brisk march through the pub had them outside navigating the snowy terrain. They didn't speak much on their walk through Hogsmeade, up the long path to the castle.

Once they were through the large entrance doors, the temperature change had Harry pulling his cloak off to drape over an arm. Minerva seemed to be unaffected, and he reminded himself to ask after her secret later. They hustled to the first moving staircase, and Harry observed that it seemed to behave for her. When he questioned her on it, she just gave a secret smile and opened the door to her office.

Within minutes they had settled in, with a full tea-tray overladen with Harry's favourites from his time at Hogwarts. Minerva had poured herself a tumbler of amber liquid from an unlabelled blue glass bottle and prepared another for Harry at his nod. He took a sip and thought the inside of his oesophagus was melting. His eyes watered a moment, at which Minerva seemed very amused.

"As you were saying," Harry prompted, as he rested back in the plush chair, "there's been a complaint?"

He cradled the tumbler in his hands as she nodded.

"Yes, our Defence teacher this year is Zacharias Smith ㅡ," Minerva cut herself off at the face he'd made. "I will assume you remember him."

"Yes, I remember Smith," Harry replied, not hiding the tone in his voice. They both took a sip from their tumblers, the liquid not as crippling this time.

"Professor Smith has butted heads with Severus quite a bit this year," Minerva explained. Harry's responding snort only caused her to pause for a moment. "And just days ago Kingsley contacted us to inform us of the complaint filed. Smith claims he was traumatised during Severus's first term as headmaster. He said he waited this long under the assumption that Severus had 'changed'."

"So a highly believable bogus complaint from a legitimate seeming source?" Harry asked, mostly to confirm. Minerva nodded, sipping from her glass. "What is he asking for?"

"A reinvestigation," she said.

"Lucky for us, that," Harry said, and rested his elbow on the chair's arm.

"Why would that be?"

"Robards has been pushing me and Ron to take a politically focused case, and Snape's likely to be a 'Conflict of Interest' for everyone in the Office. They've all either been classmates, students, opponents, or allies. I'm sure the Minister will sign off on it."  
Minerva smiled.

"Even more lucky, after last year's fiasco with the Prophet, Robards has been keeping a tight handle on what's leaked to the press."

After a few moments of silence, Minerva nodded and then changed the subject to the innocuous small-talk she claimed to hate. Once their glasses were empty, she offered to walk him to the door, but he declined, Harry hated to inconvenience her.

As Harry climbed through the castle, he let his mind wander a bit, thankful that this visit did not feel as his last had. He had returned for Hermione's Matriculation Ceremony. He'd lasted until the closing comments, before his emotions took hold and he had to leave. As the entrance doors closed behind him, a deep sense of nostalgia hit Harry, along with a yearning to turn around. He realised he was smiling, and he let it grow thinking of his first home.


	6. 2003

Harry and Ron stood behind Robards as the man explained again. His boss was losing patience. Not that he had patience to lose.

"As I've said, Smith, our findings are consistent with the Wizengamot verdict in '98. You cannot appeal an appeal."

"I didn't appeal, I asked for a reinvestigation!" Smith argued, again.

"A Reinvestigation Request is an appeal!" Robards growled, repeating the words he'd already used a half dozen times. He was over-enunciating each word.

"Then I want to file a new report."

Robards hand twitched, an act Harry realised meant it tempted him to pull his wand.

Harry looked to Ron, and it impressed him with how well he could control his facial expressions now.

"For what, Smith?"

"Harassment."

"This is Severus Snape, Smith. If you don't feel harassed, you haven't actually spoken to him. If you've any more questions, please direct them to the Minister, as he approved and signed off on the decision."

Smith seemed to take a moment to decide. His jaw clamped, and he stormed from the office, not looking at any of them along his way. Harry and Ron turned to follow him out.

"Potter, Weasley," Robards called. The two men turned around and stepped back into the office. "Don't you ever let that man in here again."

"Yes, sir."

⁂ 

Harry's shoulders were stiff, tension refusing to release as he held his temper in check. Hermione meant well, she always did. She and Ron had been his shelter in the storm, always there for him. Today though, today he couldn't take it.

"Harry, please," she begged. "Please let us in."

His fist clenched, Hermione deserved better than his temper. The ward he'd arranged for the house told him Ron was with her, though he didn't say a word. Harry heaved a sigh and pulled the front door open.

Ron's eyes were rimmed with red, a match to his own. Having been present, he had suffered through almost as much as Harry had. Hermione's arms flexed as she restrained her urge to hug him.

"Look," Harry said, "I can't talk about this yet. It's raw," his voice cracked. The visuals that phrasing pulled up stopped him short.

"Tomorrow, okay. I'll come by first thing. Promise."

Ron gave him a sharp nod, and Hermione hesitated before following suit.

"First thing then."

After a moment's hesitation, the two turned and made their way down the steps, tucking beside them to Apparate. Harry looked to see the sun beginning to dip, pulled the door shut behind him, and followed suit.

He landed well inside St Jerome's, well in potential-view of Muggles. He tightened his fists again, using them to ground his emotions. Harry walked through the graveyard, hesitating before his stop in front of Ariana and Kendra.

Harry scanned the area for Muggles. Satisfied he was alone, he drew his wand out of the sleeve of his jumper. "Orchideous," he cast.

Instead of the usual daisies and heather, he'd conjured a bouquet of glass-like red roses. Harry huffed his frustration out and forced himself to be physically calm as he lay them in place.

Not sparing another thought for the two, he moved the two rows he needed to get to his parents. He glanced over their names, back and forth. His jaw clenched and teeth ground together.

Until desperation had overwhelmed his anger and shame.

"I really fucked up," he breathed.

He thought he'd been desperate for them before, but now it was overwhelming. It tempted him, for the first moment since That Night, to return to the Forbidden Forest and search for its most valuable hidden treasure. Harry pushed the thought out of his mind, and with its abandonment came the realisation that his cheeks were wet.

Evening had come, and the grounds were much darker than when he'd arrived. Harry heard a rustle behind him and spun. Wand aloft and arm straight, he reacted before he registered he should.

"Stup-" Harry stopped short when his brain caught up with his eyes.

Snape's hands were aloft in a gesture of surrender, Harry's wand tip dug into his throat.

"Fuck," he breathed.

Harry's posture changed with all the grace of a charmed toy Finite'd. He had to tighten his grip at the last moment as his wand almost fell to the ground with the force of his arm's fall.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

He turned around to face the grave and subtly wiped his face.

"What happened?" Snape asked behind him.

Harry cleared his throat to answer and paused. He wasn't sure of how to, or even if he should tell his day. His mind drifted, as it had since that morning, to the images and sounds of the raid.

"Potter?" Snape prompted.

"It's nothing," Harry burst out.

Even dismissing it seemed wrong. It was most definitely something. Snape walked into his peripheral, then around him to the headstone. Harry watched as he conjured two votives, and lit them both wordlessly.

"Keep your mouth shut and your mind closed," Harry quoted in a whisper, with no pause as it came to mind.

Snape must have heard as he shot him a curious look. Not for the first time, Harry wondered if Snape remembered their interactions in as clear a manner as he did.

"You called me a coward. Do you truly wish to rehash?" Snape asked.

"I'm sorry," Harry started. He felt he'd said nothing but that all day, and it would never be enough. "I didn't mean–"

Harry rubbed his face with both hands, fingers reaching under his glasses. His forgotten wand scraped against his cheek.

"I should leave. I'm sorry. Again," Harry said.

He turned in place, planning to Disapparate from the oak. Snape's hand was heavy and strong as it gripped his shoulder. Harry stopped moving then, unsure of his next step. He waited for Snape to provide instruction. The sound of leaves scattering was all that he picked up. He thought of confessing to Snape how deep his failure struck. He considered how vindicated he'd be at Harry's fuck-up, and in the next moment dismissed it. Snape deserved more than being his sounding board.

The heat of the hand seeped through his jumper, the solid weight of it was comforting. Harry realised his eyes were closed and spared a thought for when that happened.

"Did you know 'Homenum Revelio' will show the level of life within a person? That someone that's horridly injured will display a faded light? One that can be overlooked or overshadowed if they're behind a healthier person?" Harry asked, trying to remember when he learned the spell.

Snapes hand gripped tighter, now bordering on painful.

"Who died?"

Harry snorted a mirthless laugh.

"You know it's bad when Hermione couldn't even muster an 'it's not your fault'. She's–she was five. Old enough for likes and dislikes. Would have started Hogwarts with Teddy," Harry murmured. "Born during war, she survived long enough to get killed by the 'Saviour'."

"You did not kill a child," Snape said. His voice was harsh and firm.

Harry pulled out of the firm grip and spun around.

"Who killed Mum then Severus? Hm?" Harry spat. "You're here year after year paying what you see as your penance. If you believed that line–"

"If I owe penance to anyone, it is not Lily. You did not kill a child." Snape stated. He was firm, though the harshness had gone.

"I did," Harry growled, teeth clenched.

Snape's other hand clasped his shoulder.

"No."

Harry swung his head. He couldn't force his gaze to Snape, instead let it drift across the rows of stones.

"I called the building 'Clear of Life'. When the rafters came down," Harry choked, "her scream–"

He let his chin drop to his chest and squeezed his eyes closed again. 

"And here I am, whinging when two parents lost their child," he forced out.

His face was grasped and tilted up and to the side. Harry noticed a thumb slide across his cheekbone beneath his eye.

"It's not your fault."

Harry's eyes shot open. Snape's thumb made one more pass of his cheek before his hand slipped to Harry's shoulder.

"I've never lied to you," Snape stated and held his gaze for another moment as Harry searched his face. 

After some time Snape led him to sit, slipping his own cloak over Harry's shoulders, and took his own seat. Harry didn't speak much until morning, but every hour or so Snape would tell him a story or anecdote about his mother, and on occasion Harry could laugh.

⁂ 

Harry didn't remember falling asleep. He woke in his bed under his thick duvet, the distant murmur of voices coming from downstairs. It disoriented him. A yawn escaped his mouth, and he rose then wobbled before he steadied himself. His clothing had been swapped, and that was even more disconcerting.

He shuffled from his room, careful to not collapse. On the way down the stairs he gripped the rail as a lifeline and trudged into the kitchen.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed, his sorry state an indicator of how he felt. 

"Lo," he mumbled, unable to suppress another yawn

Harry forced himself to open his eyes fully, though his glasses hadn't been put on yet. He could make out red hair a few seats from Hermione and a very dark curly mass across the table. His eyes squinted smaller.

"Andromeda?" Harry asked.

"You should still be in bed, you look terrible."

"It's a Teddy week isn't it?" he asked her and already knew it was true.

"Teddy's at Molly's for the next week, if you feel better you can pick him up, or if you're still feeling poorly, she's prepared for him to sleep there and you can visit," she explained. 

"It's alright Drom–"

"Stop calling me that," Andromeda interrupted.

"Anything you'd like Andy," he teased as he fumbled his waterglass, lucky he didn't spill.

"Or that. Really now?" she asked.

Andromeda couldn't fool him, glasses or no. She found his constant attempts at nicknames endearing, and they both knew it. Harry let his body drop against the worktop, his hip stung for a moment before fading. His mind drifted off, the events of the prior day were finding their way back to him.

"I'm quitting," Ron murmured, then repeated it louder.

"I don't blame you," Harry replied.

He stared off to the side for what was probably too long. 

"It's the right choice, going to George's?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, mate." 

As much as Harry wished he could do the same, he knew he had a lot to do to work towards making his mistakes as right as they could get.

⁂ 

The Minister had stayed close to Harry's side all evening, keeping his word. On the occasion Kingsley had to separate, Ron or Hermione took his place. They must have some signal planned out. His Auror team had stepped in, taking every dance and distracting from photo-requests.

"Try not to look so miserable," Hermione said.

Kingsley was off talking to a representative from Portugal. Harry raised his eyebrows and scanned the room for sections to avoid.

"It's exhausting," he replied.

"It is, of course, but you three decided on you to be here. You need to try," Hermione murmured.

"You mean, Gawain decided," Harry corrected.

"Is it so awful to have a boss that supports you? Robards clearly thinks the world of you–"

"To his detriment," Harry interrupted her.

He turned to face her.

"Since when did you live and die by the Prophet? The Ministry is better for you being there, you know that. The Auror department is better for you there. You know if you were truly ready to leave Kingsley would have supported you, but you're not, so act like it," Hermione said.

Over her shoulder Harry saw Minerva and Snape enter the room. He froze for a moment. Hermione turned to look.

"Let's go say hello," she suggested.

Hermione grasped his upper arm to move forwards, but Harry stayed planted where he was.

"I'd rather not actually. Go ahead. I'll, uh, just meet back up with Kingsley."

Harry pulled gently out of her grip and started off in the other direction, ignoring her questions at his back. Instead of finding the Minister, he slipped around the edge of the room to the elevator. He stepped back out onto level two, moving down through the corridors and weaving through the desks in the Auror office proper. His chair squawked when he dropped into it, gaze drifting across the photographs pinned to the divider.

He noticed the stack of folders in his inbox and pulled the topmost. Harry opened it and read through the report, He gathered his supplies with one hand as he finished reading through. With his inked quill, he signed off on the report, blotted it, placed the file in his outbox then pulled the next.

"The Prophet goes on about the Ministry cutting costs, do they pay you extra to do that during their festivities?"

Harry noticed the ink was forming a pool halfway through his signature, so he finished writing and blotted before looking up.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Harry said.

The corner of Snape's lips pulled up slightly. "Of course."

Harry picked up the file and added it to the stack.

"Why are you hiding?" Snape was always direct, throwing him off.

"I'm not hiding," Harry responded, indignant in his tone.

"Granger told Minerva you were hiding."

"Of course she did," Harry breathed.

Harry pushed his glasses to the top of his head, rubbed his eyes, then let his arm drop to his lap. He met Snape's gaze and promptly forgot what he'd meant to say. After a moment, Snape glanced around his cubicle.

"Come to collect me?" Harry asked. The airiness of his voice surprised him.

"Hm?" Snape hummed. He turned his attention back to Harry,

Harry recognised the feeling in his stomach and came to a startling realisation.

"I need to go. Home." He stood, capping his inkwell. "Sorry, Professor, excuse me."

"I have not been your professor for longer than I was, at this point." Snape commented as Harry pushed between him and the doorway to get by.

"What is wrong with you?" Snape called after Harry jammed his knee into a cart by the Auror Office door and pulled his glasses into place.

It didn't sound like Snape had moved, so Harry grumbled, "So many things."

Harry made it to the lobby and had stepped through the Floo before he realised he should have warned his handlers where he was going. He stripped out of his dress robes, dropping pieces of clothing along the way to his bedroom. Kreacher was always complaining that he didn't leave him anything to do.


	7. 2004

"Thanks for this," Harry said, as Minerva escorted him through the corridors.

"Not at all. Is the venom likely to be useful? The creature's been dead for over a decade."

"May of 98 it was still active enough to destroy one of Voldemort's things, so," Harry shrugged, "I'd think so. The people in the lab at St Mungo's said that between the highly magical nature of the venom, and the temperature of the location, that they're very hopeful. Ron said that when he and Hermione went down it hadn't decomposed at all."

"Severus thinks the Chamber may have special warding built in," Minerva suggested. "To use basilisk venom as a weapon, well it's horrid."

They arrived outside the bathroom. Harry nodded.

"I thought the creatures were extinct," she said.

"No. They are illegal to breed. They're also difficult and dangerous to control. But magical breeding is so easy that we've captured and destroyed a few clutches over the years," Harry replied. "Luckily enough the consequences are harsh, so that's a bit of discouragement."

When they entered the bathroom, Harry leaned his broom against one sink and the harvesting toolbox they had given him he placed on the floor next to it. Minerva was already drying the floors, and Harry got nostalgic watching her wand-work. She handled her wand precisely, in a way Harry would never achieve.

"Shouldn't be more than an hour, I'm not sure if I can close the Chamber behind me. Sealing the bathroom may be best, and I can summon a house-elf when I'm done," Harry suggested as he pulled on his old travelling cloak and gloves.

"I shall guard the door, not to worry. Severus should be along in a moment to join you."

Harry paused, tightening the wrist of a glove. "The headmaster's coming?"

"Now really Harry, the two of you have proven you can be professional every year at the Ministry. Can you not extend that to here?"

When he looked up Minerva's arms had crossed and her head tilted, she was very much the picture he remembered from his student days. A fond smile came to his face.

"I wasn't complaining, just surprised," Harry explained.

Minerva studied him for a few seconds before she nodded. She conjured or transfigured, Harry could never tell with her, a high-backed chair that matched the one in her office. He finished adjusting his gloves and called "Up." to his broom. He attached the toolbox to the handle.

"You plan to fly down?" Minerva questioned as she settled herself in the chair.

"Fly back up. The tunnel is too steep, and it twists too much to make flying down safe. It's just easier than carrying two things," he said, as he patted the broom.

"Gloves?" she questioned.

"I don't have the words to describe how filthy it is. This is better than the process they taught me to sanitise properly before I harvest."

"You'll be sanitising either way," Snape's voice echoed a bit as he entered the room.

Snape's robes were missing. He wore black trousers, a muggle style button up, and waistcoat. Harry reached out for the case he carried, but stopped when Snape shook his head. He considered telling him how filthy the trip was, but turned around and approached the sink that held the entrance.

"Open," Harry instructed, while he gazed at the small snake carving.

Harry took a step back as the sink descended.

"My word," Minerva exclaimed. "Is it truly safe?"

Harry grinned at her.

"Ron and I were fine. Ron shoved Lockhart down and he's, well maybe not fine, but that's mostly because he attempted to Obliviate us with a broken wand."

"Mostly?" Minerva asked.

"It's safe," he assured her.

Harry gathered his broom and sat at the pipe's edge. He guided the tail into the pipe and pushed off. The trip down hadn't changed, in fact it took longer than he'd remembered. He'd swear there were more curves. Harry landed much harder this time. He pulled himself up and set his Thunderbolt II to hover.

When Harry heard Snape's approach he moved to the side. He had somehow slowed his dissension and stood fluidly from the edge of the pipe. Harry opened the case and removed two lanterns. He lit them both and attached them to each end of his broom.

Neither man said a word as they made progress through the passageway. When they arrived at the collapsed portion of the tunnel, Harry spied bits of the green snakeskin underneath the rubble. He raised his wand and cancelled the Lumos. Bit by bit, the men alternated between repairing the ceiling and banishing smaller portions of rock and dust. When they had made enough progress, Harry shook his wand hand opening and closing it to increase blood flow.

"Injury?" Snape questioned.

"Uh, yeah, a few days ago. A Severing Charm. It's surprising how many criminals fight with basic spells. It cut through the muscle and a few tendons," he replied.

Harry pulled his gloves off and stowed them in the cloak's pocket, before draping the cloak over his broom. He draped a hand over his broom and continued down the tunnel.

"Did you catch him?" Snape asked from a few paces behind.

"Her, and yeah, we did," he replied.

They descended into silence, the only sounds were their footsteps and the crunch of scattered bone and debris beneath their feet. It seemed an eternity to Harry before they reached the door to the Chamber. Harry wondered how this had been closed.

"How did the sink entrance get sealed back then? I had to do it after the battle," Harry said.

Snape's amused snort had him turn. "Albus. It took several attempts."

Harry grinned and swung his head.

"I always forget he understood Parseltongue. Ron did the same thing to open it, impressive no matter how long it may have taken."

He turned back around and looked over at the snake laden door again. "Open."

The two halves of the door separated, they slit into the framing without effort. He stepped into the Chamber proper, When Snape saw the basilisk he stopped short, his eyes flickered over the beast's body.

Harry stepped past him, trying to ignore the feelings overtaking him. The Chamber permeated fear and despair, or perhaps it was just his own memory. He approached the snake's head, and his eyes drew to the bloodstain nearby. His jaw ached, and he realised how hard he was clenching it.

"You killed that," Snape said.

Harry nodded, he couldn't tear his gaze from the dark dried blood. He felt, more than heard, Snape step closer.

"Whose?" Snape asked.

"Mine. I'm lucky Fawkes showed."

Harry turned aside and began unhooking the box from his broom, and placed the broom against the wall. He pulled out the charmed cloth, arranging it as the St Mungo's potion makers had painstakingly instructed him. He opened the jars and boxes, readying them for pieces and venom from the basilisk.

"Are those adequately charmed?" Snape asked.

"I'd assume so, they seemed to know what they were talking about," Harry replied.

"They who?"

"Lowrey and Adams."

"Step aside," Snape instructed him.

He watched as the man crouched down next to the cloth. He cast a series of spells at the boxes, most nonverbal but the ones that were Harry hadn't heard before. Snapes had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and he had secured his hair with a strip of leather at the base of his neck.

"Adams didn't take NEWT Charms, and Lowrey's an idiot," Snape explained as he rearranged the order of the containers.

Harry chuckled. Snape stood back up and returned to his own case, pulling on dragon hide gloves.

"I shall harvest, if you've no objections," Snape said.

"None. They gave me a crash-course, but you're the professional," Harry said, as he watched Snape secure the gloves around his forearms.

The work was arduous. Snape instructed him to bring each container as he needed it and coached him through sealing and preservation charms. By the time they had finished harvesting the fangs and venom sacs, he felt filthy. The task had taken much longer than an hour, though he didn't know how long it had been.

A series of heavy cleaning charms later, Harry felt better, though nothing would beat a shower. They packed up their tools and containers together, and Snape showed him the best way to store the containers within the case. He had to admit, not being his student did wonders for their ability to work together.

"Who is brewing the antidote?" Snape asked.

"Lowrey, I think."

"I'll contact the hospital," Snape said.

When they returned to the tunnel entrance, Harry mounted his broom. "If you want to make it without crashing, you need to go faster than you feel comfortable with," he offered.

Harry wondered why Snape brought a broom when he knew how to fly, but he didn't think that would be a welcome question to ask.

By the moment he dismounted, Minerva was already standing near him and casting a series of charms over him. He stood still and allowed her to do as she wished, as the anxiety was apparent on her face. At the end of it he was cleaner, and it satisfied her he was uninjured.

A few minutes later Snape had pulled out of the tunnel, and Minerva began the spells again.

"This is invasive and unnecessary, Minerva," Snape groused, and tried to wave her away.

That began a series of bickering, all the while Minerva continued to cast. Harry grinned at the two of them, finding their interaction and impotent insults charming.

"Before I forget again, would you mind if we postponed tea until next week?"

"You may use the Floo in my office. Apparating with pure basilisk venom is a death sentence."

Minerva nodded, as if there were no other option, and they headed out of the bathroom. Upon exit there was a group of students that watched them with confusion clear on their faces. Harry winked at them as he followed Snape's long strides. Only once they had made it to the staircases, did he allow himself to chuckle.

"Harry?" Minerva asked as she paused on the first step.

She turned her attention to him, as did Snape. "Oh, uh, they just watched their headmaster, Head of House, and Harry Potter walk out of the girls loo with brooms, and covered in muck."

Minerva chuckled to herself before continuing down the stairs. Harry took the first stair up, level with Snape. Since the moment he'd made it out of the Chamber, he had felt freer.

⁂ 

Harry had come to terms with it all, but that didn't stop the shaking of his hands.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you? All day you've been fretting," Hermione exclaimed, her fork clanging against her plate.

"A little sympathy please, you know this is a rough day for him," Ron said.

She turned to her husband and picked up her wineglass.

"It's not grief. He's on edge, as if he's about to take a test."

"Harry never was nervous about tests, that was you," Ron pointed out.

"Fine, like he's about to play a Quidditch game," she snapped.

"Or go on a date," Ron conceded.

Harry grasped his glass and took a deep drink, stood up and got himself a glass of water instead.

"Is that it Harry? Did you finally ask out Edward?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not planning on asking Mullins anywhere," Harry answered as he sat back down, water in hand.

Ron was watching him. Harry hated when he did that. Too many years working with him in the DMLE taught him that despite appearances, Ron didn't miss much.

"Is it someone else?" Hermione pushed.

Harry took another sip, then placed the glass on the table.

"I'm going to Godric's Hollow in an hour, no time for any dates tonight," he replied.

"For the past few years, I've wondered," Ron started, and Harry knew Ron had sunk him. "Do you ever see anyone else at the graveyard?"

"Like Muggles?" Hermione questioned.

"Like anyone," Ron said. "You're there from sundown to sunrise, do you ever run into any other people, Harry?"

This was Ron during an interrogation. It was something he'd always excelled at as an Auror. Harry met his gaze straight on. He didn't know who was first, but it was only a few moments before they both were grinning.

"Bastard," Harry said. He pushed his plate further away from him.

"Who is it?" Ron asked.

"Your future children will hate you," Harry said.

Ron laughed. Hermione had a fond expression on her face as she peered between them.

"Out with it now," Ron prompted once he got his laughter under control.

"Snape."

Ron's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. Hermione looked unfocused, as if she were drawing connections. A few times Ron looked like he was about to say something, then stopped himself.

"A thing thing or just a thing?" Ron asked.

"Mate, you'll have to try that again, I'm not in your head," Harry laughed.

Harry would have to give him credit, he was handling this much better than expected. Hermione was watching him, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

"Do you like him or do you want to just play 'dirty detention'?" Ron asked.

They both grinned at Hermione's immediate, "Ron!"

"Bit of both," Harry replied.

His grin fell away and shook his head. He huffed a sigh and stood to bring his plate to the sink. Harry ran it under the running water before setting the rinsed plate to the side.

"How long?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "Realised it at Yule, but longer than that, I think."

He turned around and leaned against the sink.

"St Mungo's, maybe, around then," he conceded.

"That was three years ago!" Hermione exclaimed. "A crush doesn't last three years, you –"

"You finish that sentence and I'm done talking about this," Harry interrupted.

Her lips tightened, and she nodded. An uncomfortable silence grew, and Harry glanced around the kitchen.

"How long have you been meeting him there?" Ron asked.

"The start," Harry mumbled.

"You'd not said a word," Ron replied.

"Don't know why, if I'm being honest."

"Are you going to–" Hermione began.

"No," Harry interrupted.

"I thought not, but –" she tried again.

"I know, and no," Harry grumbled. At her look he sighed, "I'm sorry, I just need to go. You two are still staying the night?"

Hermione nodded.

"We've both got tomorrow off, so we'll be here when you wake," Ron said.

"Thanks," he called over his shoulder as he ascended the stairs.

Harry pulled on his jumper, the same he wore most years, and his longest, warmest cloak. Once out of the house, he took a few bracing breaths before he moved to the side of the stairs and Apparated.

When he got to the gravesite, it surprised him to be alone. Except for that one year, he was always second to arrive. Harry lit his votive and settled down against a large rock he'd Summoned on his way in. He tucked his cloak around himself and settled his gaze on the large headstone.

"Hi Mum, Dad."

A few hours passed with Harry alternating between fretting and scolding himself for fretting.

He Summoned his patronus and sent it off to the Ministry. Harry placed a light protection charm around the votive, turned on his heel, and Apparated. He stumbled into a tree as he landed, catching himself on the trunk. Though he'd not tried before, he'd thought Scotland was a bit too far in one go. He felt proud to know that he could make it if he needed.

Harry pushed himself straight, after taking a few minutes to rest, and Padma's silvery parrot landed on a nearby tree-limb.

"No VIP victims, Harry, nothing out of the ordinary at all, actually. Are you alright? We can be in the Hollow in two flicks."

A few moments later, he watched the stag race off through the forest. It always struck him as odd that his patronus would dash around trees, but right through walls. Harry walked the dozen metres to the Hogwarts Gates. He'd not approached them when they were closed. He knew Hagrid went through his locking ritual every night before dinner.

Harry stepped closer, placed a hand on the gate and pushed. The black gate didn't move for a moment, then opened as he was about to remove his hand. He closed the gate behind him, then took long strides as he walked the route to the castle. The wind in Scotland was biting, and he held the gaps in his cloak closed.

One of castle doors opened at his touch and smiled at the thought that perhaps Hogwarts may recognise him. He took the stairs by twos and avoided the trick-step as if he'd never left. He was a couple metres from the gargoyle when he heard quick steps echoing down the corridor.

"Harry? That you lad?" Minerva questioned, as he turned to face the sound of her approach.

"Good evening, Minerva," Harry replied.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, concern clear on her face. "Can I help with anything?"

"Uh, well, I had a question for the headmaster," Harry responded lamely.

"Important enough to Apparate to Scotland?" Minerva asked. Her eyes narrowed. "Is anyone injured?"

"Everyone's fine," Harry breathed. "Is Snape in his office?"

"Severus is in Hogsmeade for the evening. Rosmerta's I believe. He– well if it's important you can find him there. Are you sure I can't help?" Minerva offered again.

"No. Thank you," he said.

"Of course."

Harry turned and made his path back down the stairs. Perhaps Snape didn't tell Minerva about his Hallowe'en ritual. She'd never mentioned it before, so he assumed not. The walk through the castle and grounds seemed to take an eternity. He'd pop into the Three Broomsticks and beg Rosmerta for the use of her Floo. Harry began the Event Report in his head. By the time he made it into Hogsmeade, he had a full plan for the team.

It surprised Harry how crowded the pub was until he remembered it was Sunday. He pushed his path through the door and stopped on his way to the counter. At that moment he could finish the sentence that Minerva left hanging. He's on a date. Laughing. Somehow the fact that it was with a man was worse.

He backed around the small group he'd just passed and made it outside, against the odds unnoticed. Harry looked about the village and made his approach to the Hog's Head. Aberforth spotted him.

"Floo?" Aberforth asked.

Harry nodded. With a tip of Aberforth's head, Harry had the concent he needed and ducked into the storeroom. His movement was automatic. He tossed the powder into the grate, called out his address, and stepped through. He found himself inside his lounge, facing his friends who'd been watching telly.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

They were both wide-eyed, Ron pushed himself to stand while Hermione looked around, then grabbed her wand off of the table.

"I-It's nothing," Harry stuttered. "I'm to bed."

Harry pulled his cloak from his shoulders before he remembered the votive.

"You've not been to bed before nine in the past decade," Ron stated.

The sofa squeaked as Ron sat. Harry leaned his head against the doorframe, staring out into the hall.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. He knew they wouldn't believe it.

"At least sit with us, you've seen the film before, we won't have to catch you up," Hermione prompted, her voice falsely cheerful.

"Sure," Harry conceded. "I left a votive burning in St Jerome's, I'll join when I return."

"I'll go," Ron offered. The sofa squeaked again.

Harry turned around, but before he could protest Ron held up a hand.

"I need the air. I'll bring back gelato, Hermione was just mentioning that, and now I can't stop thinking about it."

He grinned at Harry and strode by him into the hall, calling back, "If you finish that one, don't start the next 'til I'm back."

Harry moved to the couch and collapsed into it. "Divide and conquer?" He asked.

"That's only fitting if you're in cahoots with someone, shouldn't you know that as an Auror?" she asked.

"Hm, probably," he replied.

"Did you fight?"

"Not wasting any time, are we? No," Harry answered

"Did you talk?"

"No," he repeated.

"Is it larger than a breadbox?" Hermione deadpanned.

"Sorry. He wasn't there," Harry grumbled.

"Oh, that's odd isn't it. I hope he's alright, should I send a patronus?" Hermione asked, her wand was at the ready before he'd answered.

"He's on a date," he confessed.

"Oh."

"Yeah." he sighed.

"Do you want to–"

Harry interrupted, "It's a breadbox, press play."


	8. 2005

"So, have you decided?" Hermione asked, not looking in his direction as he entered her office doorway.

"How did you know it was me?" Harry asked. "You must be a witch."

Hermione laughed and pointed to a glass-framed photograph on the shelf above the one she was searching through. "Reflection."

"Ah. Yes," he answered her question.

She whipped around. Her face was alight. "Really?"

At his nod, she gave a bright smiled. "Eight years I've been nagging, begging, offering, asking, bribing, blackmailing, and getting Molly and Ginny to help me do all of those things. I feel almost as fulfilled as when I received my NEWT results."

"When you put it like that, I'm proud I lasted that long," Harry laughed, dropping into her chair and pulling at a loose thread on his Auror robes.

"What made you change your mind?" she begged as she leaned her hip against the desk.

"Pity?" he joked. "But truly, I just want company, and you're the one volunteering to freeze her arse off, so you're it."

"It's only supposed to be twelve tonight, hardly freezing."

"You know the forecast tonight? Why does that surprise me at all?"

"No clue, Ron's sitting with Victore tonight, want to grab takeaway on route?"

"Yes, I'm off now, I can pick up. Italian?" Harry asked.

He stood from the desk and headed towards the door.

"Yes! The usual. I'll meet you at the gates?"

He nodded. Harry left her office and made his way through the Ministry. He made a point to not focus on the letter in his pocket. He'd only brought it for Hermione. Picking them apart had been a favoured hobby of her's over the last year.

Every single time Harry' had forgotten the man, and gone on a date, or even planned one, a letter would arrive. It's as if he planned it. The first few he'd burned with his junk mail until Ron and Hermione had convinced him to stop. They were more notes, instead of letters. One or two lines, usually questions that Harry had no, and every desire to answer.

Harry ordered their food. The strange attention they had given him reminded him he hadn't changed his clothing. He mumbled something about a Renaissance faire as he headed into the restaurant's bathroom.

"Kreacher," he stage-whispered.

The house-elf popped in. After a quick exchange, and an even quicker changing of clothing, Harry walked back into the restaurant. He had his long travelling cloak draped over his arm.

Once he'd Apparated to Godric's Hollow, Hermione was already waiting for him. She took the bag of food so he could pull his cloak around himself. The area was still bright, sunset not for another hour. He exchanged the bag for the letter as they wound their way through the graveyard.

Hermione's face lit up a bit, but she flashed a sympathetic look for his benefit. Harry rolled his eyes and looked away as she broke the seal on the parchment. Her "Um, Harry?" coincided with the moment he spotted Snape by the gravesite.

"Does it say Snape's coming?" Harry muttered.

"Yes," she responded and looked up. "Oh."

"Yep."

They both stared ahead, and Harry heard a flutter of parchment as she pocketed the letter.

"Anything else I should know?"

"No. Want me–"

"Don't you dare," he whispered back. "I've avoided every Ministry event and postponed every tea with Minerva that was being held in Hogsmeade. I've even avoided Diagon during weekends and Hogwarts holidays. Don't you so much as suggest it."

"We can leave," she offered.

"He knows we're here already, look at the line of his shoulders."

"Oh, Harry, really? You kn–"

"Breadbox."

"Fine, let's stop whispering like fools and act like adults then," she said.

She took a step forwards and hooked her arm through his when he didn't move. Half pulling, they made the rest of the way through together. Harry didn't know if he'd ever been so thankful for her as the couple times she'd accompanied him within St Jerome's.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Hermione greeted formally.

Snape turned around and Harry noted he looked startled.

"Miss Granger, Mrs Weasley-" Snape paused.

"Mrs Granger, though you're welcome to call me Hermione," Hermione stated.

Snape nodded and turned to Harry. "Potter."

"Snape." he replied.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Snape asked.

Harry sat down in his usual spot, Hermione lowering herself next to him. She pulled the takeaway bag to her and pulled at the staples binding it.

"Of course," Harry replied. "It seems we'll have all evening."

Snape's hum was a non-reply, though Harry distracted himself with the container she handed him.

"Are you hungry, Sir?" Hermione asked. "We have more than enough. Let's see shrimp bolognese or primavera."

"You'll break her heart if you take the bolognese," Harry supplied.

"Shut it you," she replied off-hand.

He rolled his eyes, pulling plastic cutlery from the bag and taking his own share. The shuffle of cloth and dirt told him that Snape had sat. Hermione was dealing with this hurdle as she did most things, chattering through it. He tuned her out and focused on his meal. When he heard his name again, he looked up.

"Hm?" he hummed.

"I asked if you skipped lunch again," Hermione prompted.

"Oh, yes, there was a line."

"There's always a line," she responded.

"And I always skip lunch."

Hermione huffed a laugh and turned her attention back to her own meal. Harry looked around, realising he had not noticed the sky darkening. Three votives were lit by the headstone, and Snape was watching him.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I am not your professor."

"Yes, Snape?"

"You called me by my given name once."

"Well, that was right after I caused the death of a child, I wasn't at my best."

Harry set the container aside and pushed himself up to stand.

"Mione, I need a moment," he said as he brushed some debris from his robe.

"Want–"

"Breadbox."

She nodded, pulling the cover over his meal.

Harry stalked through the graveyard. Twenty-five years old and he could still stomp off in a strop like the best. He was never at his best when surprised, and this had been surprising. The short gate swung closed behind him, and he made his way into the town.

Harry paused for a moment outside the pub and listened to the muffled sounds of conversation and laughter. He continued after a moment in the obelisk's direction.

The moment the shape changed into the expected statue, Harry stopped and ran his gaze over it. It wasn't any less strange this time, though now he had time to appreciate the work the artist had done. He looked around and spotted a bench within range, and he moved to it and sat on the cool wood.

"Harry?" a feminine voice called.

Harry looked up to see a very familiar young woman. A smile pulled on his lips and he stood to greet her.

"Susan?" Harry questioned, though he was sure he was correct.

Susan smiled wider, stopping before him and gave him a quick hug.

"How are you? It's been what? Seven years, eight? I've heard a bit from Hannah, of course, and the Prophet, but they're always wrong," she rambled.

"I'm well, well enough anyway. How are you? Getting married if Hannah's to be believed."

Susan grinned, "She's a trustworthy sort. I'm fantastic. Just finished opening the second shop, hoping for a third in Dorset next year. I live a few streets away." Her gaze moved to the statue and back to him. "When we were small, we always thought you'd show up. Strange seeing you here now though,"

Harry grinned, "A lovely reminder of your old schoolmate daily?"

"Something like that. This village," she paused. "Well. your parents are heroes to them, to us. I know you hated attention from all of it, but that's not what the Hallow is like. They're legendary because they were what every parent aspires to be, according to mom anyhow. There's a gathering here tonight, at the time, you know. Happens every year," she said, an apology in her voice.

"I never knew. I visit at St Jerome's," he replied.

"That's good at least. Muggle repelling charms are put up every year, two days before until two days after, in case you or other family may want to visit. It's well known around here to stay away in that time, so hopefully you haven't been bothered much," she explained.

"No, it's–"

"Is that Professor Snape?" Susan asked.

Harry barely suppressed a groan. "Yes, it is," he ventured, though didn't follow her line of sight to be sure.

"Strange, I've never seen him at the gatherings before, shall we go say hello?"

Susan didn't wait for an answer, just brushed past Harry. He sat back down on the bench which had an unfortunately excellent view of them both. Less than a minute went by before Hermione slid next to him.

"Can we go?" Harry asked.

"I'm going. You need to talk to him."

"Hermione–"

"No. If you can't talk, then be quiet and allow him to. I mean it," Hermione spoke firmly. She looked up at the statue for a moment before she stood. "Go back, I'll gather Susan in a minute."

⁂ 

Harry took his time, moving through random alleyways toward his destination. The older homes in the area provided him ample opportunity for distraction, and he took full advantage. He ran his hand along chipped fences and stone walls, catching sight of stragglers leaving their homes.

On occasion one looked at him a bit too long, before nodding their heads or giving him a gentle smile. Wizards, he realised once he recognised a young shopkeeper from Diagon. None approached him, though all seemed friendly. 

It warmed him, bringing his mood higher, that his parents weren't forgotten after all these years.   
His own achievements, and defeat of Voldemort, seemed to overshadow the actions of others during the wars, most often in the press. To know his parents' sacrifice was admired and remembered touched him.

As he would through the gravestones, he did not look at the dark figure stood at the graveside.   
Harry focused on the Oak, letting his fingers trail along the rough bark as he stepped around it. 

He approached the grave, trailing his eyes across his mother's name, and wondered what Lily Potter would advise him in this situation. Perhaps if he mended this fence, he'd be able to ask Severus.

"Look, Snape–" 

"I apologise," Severus interrupted.

Harry froze, only having turned halfway around. He didn't expect those words.

"You've nothing to apologise for. I've been in a strop,"

"For last year. Weasley was here when I arrived," Snape murmured.

"What did Ron say?" he asked, a waver in his voice.

"That is not the matter at hand," Snape replied.

"It is, actually."

Harry hadn't realised how close they'd moved. He looked down at the ground and stepped back before giving Snape his attention again. The last thing he needed was to make Severus uncomfortable. Though they'd hardly be friends, they'd developed a peace between them over the previous seven years that would hurt to lose.

He scratched the back of his neck, before raising his gaze to Severus's pensive expression. Deliberate, as always, Snape took a step forward, his head tilted and curious eyes watching as Harry stepped back. 

When Harry's back hit the trunk of the old Oak, he realised they'd both been moving. With nowhere to go, his heart pounded. Severus moved even closer, and Harry fought not to reach for his wand. Snape wouldn't harm him, however the sensation of being trapped raised the hairs on his neck. The mere centimetres between them weren't enough, and Harry couldn't breathe. 

"I, uh, would you–" Harry broke off. 

His head swam, searching for words that wouldn't offend. Snape stepped closer, and their bodies weren't touching, but only barely. Harry could feel the warmth seeping through his clothing, and he blocked the light breeze that had been rustling the leaves nearby.

A light tickle on the back of his hand was the first sign that he was being touched. Severus's fingertips pressed more firmly and Harry's eyes fell closed, pushing his head and body back into the tree trunk.

"Why are you frightened?" Snape whispered.

Harry didn't attempt a response, but his head shook without thought. The warm weight of a hand curled around his bicep, and his eyes clamped tighter. He noticed Snape move even closer, and his fists clenched.

"Look at me," Snape asked.

His eyes opened at the words that haunted his nightmares, gaze meeting Severus's. He still dreamed of blood and memories, seeping and running, but life filled this version. Snape seemed to search his eyes and face. 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came to mind, too focused on the body now pressed against him. It was the soft fabric of a furred cloak that made him aware he was clutching at Severus. He felt frantic and out of control, his mind unable to focus. Nothing seemed to make sense. The pressure and warmth at his waist was a hand, he realised, 

Severus's forehead leaned against his and they breathed the same air. 

"May I?" Severus asked.

The rumble in Snape's chest vibrated his own. In a moment he was hyper aware of everywhere they were pressed against one another. His head cleared as he registered Severus's words. He thought he breathed, "Yes," before a soft mouth covered his.


	9. 2006 | Epilogue

"We're always so early."

She resettled herself on the gravestone, kicking her heels against the granite. He moved closer and hopped up to sit beside her.

"You say the same thing every year, do you know that?" she asked as she leaned into his side.

James rested his cheek against the top of her head, "Do I?"

"Hm, yes. I tell you 'I'll not waste a minute of my chance', then you agree. Typically with some joke," Lily said, resting her hand on his leg.

He chuckled, "Is it a good joke then?"

"It's horrid," she grinned, trailing her eyes across the graveyard. 

They sat still, pressed together, watching as streams of sunlight dimmed and disappear. Vibrant red leaves swirled down with each breeze, catching the last glimpses of light as they fell to the ground. She envied those who still experienced the breeze, but pushed the thought away as soon as it'd come. 

"There," James said, pointing off to the side a bit.

Two figures followed the winding path, and she trained her gaze upon them. James grunt opposed her bright smile as they both looked on. As the pair came into view, she could tell that they were murmuring to each other. 

"Loosen up Evans, if I wasn't dead you'd be bruising me," James said as he wiggled his leg.  
Lily released her tight grasp and rubbed the spot for a moment in apology. She pulled her legs up as the men approached, folding them under her and out of their way. Her eyes rolled when James didn't move his at all, allowing Harry's arm to travel through his foot. That was always unnerving. 

She drank in the sight of her son. This year he had changed little, but the circles that persisted beneath his eyes seemed to have faded a bit. When the votives were lit she could feel warmth, a once per year luxury that she'd never grow tired of. James sighed, and she hummed in response. It was that infusion of feelings that began to change James's opinion of Severus, that he sat for both of them. Though her husband would never admit it.

Severus laid his cloak on the ground and sat, while Harry took a seat next to him and unhooked his own to drape over both of their shoulders. Lily heard James huff through his nose, though he stayed otherwise quiet in his observation. She watched as Harry slid his hand over the back of Severus's and their fingers entwined. 

"He looks happy," James whispered.

Tears well in her eyes and looked away to will them beck. Once she had control of herself, her gaze fell back to the two men sitting on the ground.

"They both do."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcome.
> 
> This work is part of the Snarry AUctoberfest 2020. The creator will be revealed after all works have been posted.


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